


Siberia

by CC99trialanderrorgirl



Series: Stucky - Desperately in Love Universe [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: As in Bucky talks Steve into an orgasm, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Battle, Begging, Blood, Blood Pacts, Blow Jobs, Blushing Steve Rogers, Bucky has mad knife skills, Bucky's Winter Soldier Uniform, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Competence Kink, Crying, Cutting (Blood Pact), Dacryphilia, Dirty Talk, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom Steve Rogers, Dreams, Gun Kink, In Chapter Three:, In Chapter Two:, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, Light Omorashi, Love, M/M, Married Sex, Mild Gore, Minor Frottage, Rough Kissing, Safe Sane and Consensual, Simultaneously BAMF and Hot Mess Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers getting held down, Steve Rogers likes being held down, Steve gets off on being overpowered, Steve is really into the fact that Bucky could kill him, Sub Bucky Barnes, Sub Steve Rogers, Swearing, They're So Kinky and So In Love, Typical Steve Rogers Self Flagellation, Weapons Kink, Well Mostly - They Make a Few Crazy Decisions, Wetting, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, married au, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24184936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC99trialanderrorgirl/pseuds/CC99trialanderrorgirl
Summary: Steve keeps having dreams about his husband domming the shit out of him as the Winter Soldier. In fact, he’s kind of obsessed. In true Steve fashion, he tears himself up about it until Bucky finds out and...doesn't mind. Like, at all. In fact, he decides to give Steveexactlywhat he’s been dreaming about. Then things really get crazy...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Stucky - Desperately in Love Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743424
Comments: 63
Kudos: 351





	1. Where the Action Is

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same universe as Not Supposed to (Know Me So Intimately) and Begging for It, but the kinks in this one are different, because Steve and Bucky are different people with different needs (see the tags for the specific kinks featured in this one). Steve and Bucky are still married and very in love, though. But this time, Steve is more often the one in the submissive role, especially in the first two chapters...

The first time Steve wakes up from the dream, it’s the night after the battle. He’s breathing hard, winded, and he wonders what, if anything, he might have said out loud. In the dream, he knows he was saying, “please” a lot. His cheeks burn at the thought.

Bucky is lying on top of him, holding him, _soothing_ him, whispering in his ear that it’s _okay_. It’s not okay. Steve is afraid to look at him. He looks to the side instead. Their blankets are on the floor, and the lamp is on. There are also three knives on the floor next to the bed. Bucky probably grabbed them on instinct, realized there wasn’t any external threat, and then dumped them to comfort Steve instead. Steve can imagine it, imagine his husband crouched and deadly in the dark, a knife between his teeth, two more in his hands. He can picture the hard glint in Bucky’s gaze, how he always looks so assured with weaponry. Like it’s some kind of extension of himself. He imagines Bucky picking up one of the knives, holding the cold blade against Steve’s neck, hissing Russian against the sensitive shell of his outer ear.

He’s half hard at the thought, burning alone in his mind in the dark. So when Bucky tells him that he’s safe, that there’s no plane, no ice, Steve…God help him, Steve lets him assume.

The second time it happens, Bucky isn’t home, and Steve is so thankful. He gets further in the dream than before, and he’s embarrassingly close to coming by the time he wakes up. Bucky – no, the Winter Soldier – had been holding Steve against the wall with a metal hand over his throat, while the other hand cupped Steve through his pants. He’d said something in Russian, then kissed him. Hard. There was blood on Bucky’s lips when he’d pulled back to look Steve in the eye. Then suddenly, there was a knife in his right hand and he was throwing it at some oncoming thug. The guy went down, knife perfectly placed in his chest. Bucky had never even looked away from Steve’s face.

He jerks off in the shower, hard and fast and ruthless, tears in his eyes because this is his _husband,_ and being the Winter Soldier was the darkest chapter of his entire life, and Steve _can’t_ turn that into jack-off material. It’s cheap. It’s _wrong_. But he can’t stop himself from picturing Bucky throwing the knife with perfect precision, murder in his eyes, killing a man and never even taking his eyes off Steve. He comes so hard he sobs. Afterwards, he changes the sheets and cleans the bathroom and pretends nothing ever happened. He can’t look Bucky in the eye for days.

It happens again for the third time while Bucky is off on a mission in the Ukraine with Natasha. Steve wanted to go with him, to be supportive, but Bucky had insisted that it wasn’t necessary. He was in a good place, and he’d rather Steve stay here, where he can be sure Steve is comfortable and relaxed.

Steve is neither comfortable nor relaxed right now. No, he’s tense as hell, staring at one of Bucky’s knives instead. The one he keeps in a holster under his side of the bed. Bucky keeps knives everywhere. They’re hidden all over their apartment. Steve doesn’t even know where they all _are,_ although Bucky had tried to show him once.

His husband is a study in contradictions. He’s often soft, almost sweet. But he is also paranoid, prepared, and deadly competent. Sometimes the contrast drives Steve crazy. Like right now. He can’t stop staring at the knife in his hands. It’s perfectly balanced, with a black hilt and gunmetal gray blade. It’s sharpened to a wicked point at the tip, and the edge is so precise that Steve is sure if he pressed his fingertip against it, he would bleed.

He doesn’t, though. He just turns the knife over in his hand, again and again. Picturing Bucky using it. Maybe to defend Steve, maybe to attack him. It doesn’t actually matter. There’s just something about Bucky and the knife. He wipes it off so that his fingerprints don’t corrupt the blade and puts it back in its sheath beneath the bed. Then he calmly undresses himself, walks to the shower, turns it on, and jerks off for all he’s worth. He feels awful after he comes.

The fourth time, it’s more of a daydream. The details are hazy in that way that dreams sometimes are, but the gist of it is that Steve is on the floor, Bucky is leaning over him, and there’s a knife at Steve’s throat and a knee at his groin. Bucky’s face is inches from his in the dream, spitting something in Russian. He looks…ruthless. Dream Steve is crying, struggling, and so close to coming it’s like trying to balance on a knife’s edge. Real-life Steve is on the couch and saying “please,” a lot again when Bucky walks in.

He wakes up immediately at the sound of the door closing, face a burning crimson the moment he realizes.

Bucky notices the blush, because Bucky notices _everything_.

“What’s going on, Steve?” Bucky asks, far too kindly. Doesn’t he know Steve is a _monster_?

“Nothing,” Steve says, looking away.

“Did you have a dirty dream, Steve?” Bucky asks, sing-song and happy - _teasing_. Blissfully unaware, Steve thinks. He has never been so ashamed in all his life. He might throw up, actually.

“Tell me, Steve,” Bucky says, and his expression changes, realizing that this is serious.

It makes him look a bit more… _frosty_. Steve has a semi already. Oh _God_. He prays that Bucky won’t notice. In fact, for the first time in his life, Steve wishes he had a _less_ attentive husband.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers again, all focused and commanding and somehow still heartbreakingly gentle.

“I _can’t_ ,” he whispers, and his voice breaks.

“Yes, you can,” Bucky says it like a promise.

“No,” Steve says, voice pained. “It’s too dark.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, “I have seen you come untouched from hearing me beg you to let me piss all over the floor. There is _nothing_ too dark. It’s you and me, Steve. ‘Til the end of the line.”

Steve shakes, rolls his head to the side and back again.

“I can’t,” Steve says again, desperate to make Bucky _understand_. He is a _terrible_ husband. A _monster_. He’s been secretly getting off on the darkest chapter of his husband’s entire life.

Bucky steps closer, sits right on his lap, presses Steve’s body back against the couch. His eyes bore down on Steve.

Steve skips a breath, and shit, that hasn’t happened to him since he was a _kid_.

“I was the Winter Soldier,” Bucky says, like it says everything.

“I _know_ ,” Steve says, and chokes on the syllables.

“Oh,” Bucky says, and suddenly it all makes sense. This is about the Ukraine. He feels the dawning horror. Immediately, he puts distance between them, giving Steve space. He runs a hand through his hair, pained.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” he says, earnest and desperate. “I never want you to be afraid of me. You don’t have to be, baby, I _swear_.”

Bucky breaks then, comes forward and drops to his knees at Steve’s feet. He puts on hand on Steve’s thigh. His gaze is imploring.

Bucky thinks he’s going to _lose_ him.

But fuck, it’s the other way around, though. Steve can’t believe this is happening. Oh God, this _isn’t_ happening. It can’t be. But he can’t let Bucky think _he’s_ the monster. Steve is going to have to tell him the truth.

He’s never been more afraid of anything in his entire life.

He looks up, forces himself to hold Bucky’s gaze. He licks his lips once, like he’s nervous. Bucky’s face does something heartbreaking and awful. And then Steve speaks.

“I’m…not.”

Suddenly, Bucky can feel where Steve is now hard as nails between them. Oh.

Oh _shit_.

“Buck, Jesus, _God_ , I’m so _sorry_ ,” Steve is saying. He’s got his face covered with one hand, now.

“I’m not,” Bucky says. He gives it a minute. Turns it over in his mind. And yeah, he can _definitely_ do this. Go time.

“What?” Steve whispers, like he doesn’t understand. He looks lost.

“Does it turn you on?” Bucky whispers, leaning forward. His voice is pitched low like when he’s on comms, and his lips are just inches from Steve’s ear.

Steve’s breathing picks up so fast that Bucky thinks for one crazy moment that it’s an asthma attack. But Steve doesn’t have those anymore.

Steve still hasn’t answered.

“I asked,” Bucky repeats, “if it turns you on. Me, as the Winter Soldier. _Does it_?”

He hisses the last two words directly into Steve’s ear, slides his hands up to grip as Steve’s biceps.

“Yes, oh my God, Bucky, I’m so sorry, I _love_ you, I’m so sorry, it _does_.” Steve says it all in a rush, eyes squeezed shut.

Above him, Bucky chuckles.

Steve is confused.

“Wow,” Bucky says. “That really does it for you, huh? Oh baby, we are going to have some _fun_.”

“What?” Steve’s eyes fly open and the words practically explode out of him. “How can you be okay with this? I just told you I turned your darkest days into _jerk_ _off_ _material_. How are you okay with that? Just, _what_?”

This time, Bucky actually full-on laughs, head thrown back and everything. Then his eyes turn dark. “Okay, first of all? We will be coming back to that. Have you been jerking off to me, Stevie?” He adds the diminutive just for fun, but Steve positively _melts_ at the old nickname. _Noted_.

“Steve,” Bucky says, getting over his laughing fit, “I was sitting here thinking you were afraid of me, because of the Ukraine mission. I could not care less about the fact that you secretly want me to dom the shit out of you as the Winter Soldier.”

Steve just stares, open-mouthed.

“I mean,” Bucky smirks, and it looks positively _feral_ on him. “That is what you want, right?”

Steve still can’t speak.

That’s okay, Bucky’s mouth is big and filthy enough for the both of them.

“Get up,” he commands. He hits the consonants hard. He’s speaking English, but he lets the hints of his Russian accent bleed through.

Steve gets the fuck up.

Oooh. _Fun_.

Bucky grabs him by the back of the neck, frog marches him into the bedroom, and Steve just _goes_. Along for the ride. He’s clearly distracted. His skin is burning up where Bucky is touching it. This is so fucking _awesome_. He’s gonna leave Steve in fucking _pieces_.

They clear the doorjamb and Bucky _throws_ Steve onto the little love seat they have in there. He bounces once, then immediately rearranges himself so that he can look at Bucky.

Steve Rogers, _scrambling_. That’s a mental picture right there. Damn.

He pulls his shoulders back, widens his stance. Winter Soldier posture. Then he starts talking.

“So, what is it, exactly?” Bucky muses aloud. He gets up off of Steve, leaves him sprawled there on the couch while he prowls back and forth in front of him.

“Is it…my eyes?” He guesses. He’s been told they’re attractive by a fair number of gossip publications. People particularly seem to like the way they look when he fights. “How they get all cold and bright and hard? Like this?” Bucky lets his eyes go baleful and flinty.

Steve shivers on the couch.

“Or maybe it’s my clothes. Do you like the outfit? All the buckles and the straps?” he wonders out loud. “You want me to dress up like that and _dominate_ you? Hold you down and fuck you fully dressed, buckles and holsters pressing into your skin?”

On the couch, Steve mewls, but doesn’t say anything.

“Not exactly it, either. Okay. Maybe it’s the arm? I know a lot of people have a thing for it. Is my own husband one of them? Hmm, Stevie?”

Steve tries to shake his head _no, of course not_ , but he can’t.

Bucky waits a beat, then takes his hoodie off and throws it behind him. Underneath he’s wearing a tight black running shirt and nothing else. It shows off the arm.

“Let’s see,” Bucky says in that same maddeningly casual tone. “Hmm, I could drag my fingers over your nipples, all cold and contrasting. Or, _oh_ , I could stick my fingers up your ass, fill you up with metal, hmm? Would you like that?”

Steve keens and spread his legs a little on the couch.

“Oh, you _would_. Guess I’m getting warmer then. But that’s clearly not quite it. Darker, you said?”

Steve whimpers.

“Okay, I can go darker,” Bucky says, because he _can_. “You want knives, baby? Weapons? You want me to hold you down with a knife to your throat, gun to your head? You want metal fingers digging into your hip? Want me to really go all out? Overpower you?”

Steve starts crying on the couch.

“Oh, baby boy, that’s _it_ , isn’t it?” Bucky croons softly, and Steve wants to _die_.

There isn’t enough air in the room. Steve hasn’t felt like that little asthmatic kid since he was still living in Brooklyn over 70 years ago. But he feels it now, that’s for damn sure.

Bucky is stepping closer, but still well out of reach. He looks so tall, and Steve feels so small looking up at him from the couch.

Steve swallows. Hard.

“Can you picture it, baby?” Bucky whispers. “You, pressed up against the wall. Me, leaning over you with a knife and a gun and my metal arm, totally in control. I’ll hold you down and fuck you, make you _cry_.”

Steve actually _is_ crying on the couch right now, and more than just a little bit.

Bucky keeps talking.

“But, I’m _nice_ , you know. The Winter Soldier can be _merciful_.” He all but spits the word. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do before I do it, tell you all the dirty things I’m going to do to you. But I’ll say it in _Russian_ , so you can’t understand, so you won’t _know_. I’ll _own_ you, baby.”

Steve comes without a word, without a sound. Completely untouched.

The space between them is burning, electric.

Steve wants to run, hide. But he can’t.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, coming to kneel in front of a very embarrassed Steve. “You been tearing yourself up about this all month?”

Steve nods, cheeks flaming.

“Should’ve told me, punk,” Bucky says.

“I know, Buck, I know,” Steve says miserably. “But…” he trails off.

“You’re not bad, Steve. I’m your husband. You, more than anyone else, are allowed to want all the parts of me.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, hopeful and broken down from his orgasm.

“Definitely.” Bucky says. His eyes are clear now, a little more blue. He knows Steve notices the changes. Steve _always_ notices everything about him.

“He’s part of me,” Bucky continues. “You’ve told me that yourself a million times. And if I’m being honest? I kind of like it.”

Steve looks up at him so hopefully then that it almost breaks Bucky’s damn heart.

“Really?” Steve asks, and he sounds so unsure that Bucky wants to break something.

“Yeah, babe,” he says, quiet. “I kind of love that you want me like that, too. It feels like…acceptance?” Bucky isn’t sure it’s exactly the right word, but it’s close. And fuck, it’s true, it feels strangely good to be wanted for his darkest parts right along with all the others.

“Babe,” he says, “go take a shower, then get in bed, and we’re gonna talk about this. But, I _promise_ , I _swear_ to you, it’s not a problem.”

“Okay,” Steve says, tentative. But he goes, and Bucky starts to plan.

Steve, unlike Bucky, doesn’t really get off on turning painful experiences into pleasurable ones. Subversion is kind of Bucky’s gig. Like, just _look_ at his clothing choices and his frankly ridiculous set of kinks.

But Steve, _Steve_ gets off on something else. And Bucky knows what it is. He knows that Steve used to get something out of those fights as a skinny guy. He also knows what other people probably assume. But the truth is that for Steve, it isn’t about the sensation at all. It’s about the _danger_. It’s what makes him sign up for stupid experiments and run into collapsing buildings and jump out of planes without parachutes.

Steve does what he does in no small part because he wants to feel _alive._

It’s part of what makes him such an amazing dom, when he plays that role. He’s so invested, so focused. He approaches every sexual encounter like it’s a declaration of survival. And he _loves_ to be in control with Bucky. But, Bucky knows, switching can be fun, too. And he’s for damn sure going to enjoy the _hell_ out of domming Steve _fucking_ Rogers.

All that aside, though, Steve also, Bucky knows, likes _competence_. Bucky is very, very sure that Steve does not know this about himself. But look at the people Steve has been attracted to in his lifetime: Bucky – sniper prodigy and later the Winter Soldier. Peggy Carter – just, _Peggy Carter_. Natasha Romanoff – the Black Widow. It’s Steve’s kink. He just doesn’t know it or how to indulge it yet. But Bucky does.

“Hey baby,” he says, as Steve comes out of the shower. He’s already dressed in red pajama pants and a too-tight powder blue shirt. His hair is wet. Bucky wants to _devour_ him.

Steve tucks himself down into bed next to Bucky, who pulls the blankets up over them.

“So,” Bucky starts off. “You’re curious about the Winter Soldier…” 

He says it in the same tone as the parents on teen soap operas say, “you’re curious about your body”. He cracks himself up sometimes, fuckin’ honestly.

But Steve doesn’t laugh.

He still looks torn up.

Bucky _hates_ it.

He considers his options. There’s the responsible route, talking all this shit through with Steve first, and then there’s the less responsible but much more fun route of just domming the shit out of him right fucking now.

He knows which he _should_ pick.

But fuck it.

“You know what?” he says, standing up. “We’re doing this. Right fucking now.”

Steve looks confused.

“The safeword is Azzano!” Bucky calls over his shoulder as he stalks to the closet and slams the door behind him.

A minute later he comes back out with an armful of stuff and dumps it on the carpet.

He strips off his sweaty workout shorts and stuffs his thighs into a pair of skintight black tactical pants instead. He buttons the waist and does up the zip.

The sound of it is loud, echoing throughout the room.

The only other sound is Steve, struggling for breath, as his husband slowly transforms into the Winter Soldier in front of him.

This is _literally_ his wet dream come true.

“Any hard limits?” Bucky asks, as he pulls off his sweaty UnderArmor tee and replaces it with a black short-sleeved one. One size too tight, like always. Then he yanks on a black half-vest with about a thousand straps and zips on it. 

“Steve?” Bucky prompts, hands paused over one of the straps. “Limits?”

“I- um-” Steve tries to speak. “None?” He squeaks. He looks sheepish and too fucked-out for how little they’ve done.

“ _What_?” Bucky yells, and stops, halfway through sticking a gun somewhere that it has no place being on his person. How is that anatomically even possible, Steve thinks distantly.

“Steve,” Bucky says seriously, snapping his fingers to get his husband’s attention. “Limits are important. Tell me yours right now or we’re doing this another time.”

Steve visibly swallows and closes his eyes.

“Turn around,” Steve says. “I can’t…I can’t think when you’re… _like that_.” He looks like a drowning man.

“Fine,” Bucky says, and does Steve one better, ducking into the bathroom. “Limits!” he yells.

“Fine, fine,” Steve says, “No live rounds, no permanent damage – but, superficial is fine. Don’t call me anything degrading. Oh, and you have to tell me if anything is triggering, for you, I mean.”

Bucky rolls his eyes where he’s standing in front of the mirror. Steve is always so considerate. Even when it’s supposed to be about him. Oh, yes, he’s going to take him _apart,_ and he’s going to _enjoy_ it.

On the bed, Steve is finishing up his list. “…Uh, I think that’s it.”

Bucky steps back out of the en-suite.

He’s wearing the eye makeup.

His irises look fever-bright and steely. Steve’s cock jumps in his pants. Bucky bends down to his pile again and continues arming up. He only grabs two guns, carefully clearing the chambers of each and firing them blank into the floorboards before sticking them in their holsters. The knives, though, he takes about fifteen of those.

Steve watches with rapt attention as Bucky’s hands deftly strap them in.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve breathes, almost reverent. “How many do you normally carry?”

“Twenty-three,” Bucky says, like it’s nothing. Like the Winter Soldier’s competence isn’t hot as fuck. He knows it is. _Especially_ to Steve.

Bucky catches Steve’s expression, and decides to show off. He twirls a few knives around, spinning them and catching them. He embeds three in quick succession in the far wall. They form a perfect triangle.

Steve makes a strangled sound.

 _Gotcha_ , Bucky thinks.

“You like this,” Bucky says. It’s not a question.

Steve just moans.

Bucky turns his back and reaches down to the rug. He picks up the final item from his pile. The mask. He puts it on.

Steve visibly shivers when Bucky turns back around.

Bucky stalks forward, fully decked out in his Winter Soldier regalia now.

“Didn’t know that about yourself, did you?” Bucky says, and it’s more of a growl than anything. He’s hitting the consonants very precisely again, too. Like he’s speaking Russian, but he’s not.

Steve is shaking.

He’s tenting his pajama pants obscenely.

Bucky is enjoying this _so_ _damn_ much.

He leans in, hard and menacing. “I asked you a question,” he growls.

Steve swallows.

Bucky straddles him on the bed.

Steve moans.

Steve’s back is pressed up against the headboard, and Bucky slowly takes both his wrists in his left hand, then slams them hard against the wall.

“Oh God,” Steve swallows convulsively.

“Do. You. Like. It.” Bucky bites off every word like it’s a Russian curse.

“Yes.” Steve’s voice is small, but his eyes are defiant. Like he’s looking for a fight. Or maybe something a little more one-sided. Well, Bucky can give him that.

Idly, he plays with one of his knives with his free hand.

Steve is staring again, chest like a bellows.

Bucky only lets himself get distracted for a minute, but it’s enough.

All of a sudden, Bucky is on his back on the bed, and Steve is crawling over him. “Please, please, oh God, please, _I need it_ ,” he’s saying.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Steve Rogers is _begging_ him.

And yeah, okay, Bucky can _definitely_ work with this.

He grabs Steve’s shoulders, wrenches to the left, and suddenly Steve is flat on his back in the middle of the bed with Bucky staring down at him.

Steve swallows, _hard_.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “So this is how this is gonna go. You are going to say the word if you need to stop. You are going to tell me how you feel when I ask, and you are not going to _lie_. Do you accept these terms?”

Steve nods.

“Verbal answer,” Bucky spits.

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, and _holy fucking shit_. Bucky spasms in his goddamn pants.

He resettles himself on Steve, slams his hips down hard, grips Steve with his thighs. He holds Steve down with his thighs and his pelvis and a hand on each bicep. He makes sure the grip is _bruising_.

Steve looks like he’s drifting.

Hell no, Steve needs to be paying attention to _him_.

He shakes Steve, the way he would with a target on a mission, slamming him down hard. Steve’s whole body ricochets off the mattress.

Bucky shoves him flat again.

Steve cries out.

Bucky stares into his eyes.

“I could kill you right now,” he says. It’s the truth, too.

“I know,” Steve gulps, eyes burning.

“I’m the only one who can do this to you,” he says next.

“Yes,” Steve says in a disturbingly open tone. And damn, that’s carte blanche right there. That’s heady.

“You _need_ me,” Bucky says.

“I do,” Steve agrees, halfway into subspace already. Bucky knows from experience.

“You’re always fucking _begging_ to be held down, you know that?” Bucky growls.

“Yes, yes, oh my God, please, yes,” Steve is babbling.

“I’m stronger than the rest of the population,” Bucky intones. “Better, too. Faster. _Deadlier_.” He puts special emphasis on the last part.

“Agh,” Steve makes an aborted, strangled sound in the back of his throat and thrashes around. He does not throw Bucky off.

He can’t.

Bucky stares at him, unblinking, lets Steve process this.

“I’m trapped,” Steve says, and he almost sounds amazed. Grateful.

“Yeah baby,” Bucky says. “You’re _mine_.”

Steve _sobs_.

“You want me to make you feel alive, babe?” Bucky asks.

Steve just nods minutely, lost to words now.

“Here we go,” Bucky says, and then there’s a knife at Steve’s throat and a gun to his head. Bucky’s arm is braced across his chest, keeping him down, his thighs and knees still completely immobilizing Steve’s lower half.

Bucky is _overpowering_ him. The realization slowly dawns that this is actually real. Steve can’t actually break Bucky’s hold. If Bucky decided to just switch back into Winter Soldier mode fully right now, there is literally nothing he could do. Bucky could kill him right now, in their bed, and Steve would actually _die_. His super-strength is _nothing_ with Bucky. Bucky is _stronger_ than him. How did he never fully realize this? Oh God, it’s like he’s that kid back in Brooklyn again, too weak to win the fight but still trying like hell. Except, he isn’t even really trying to do that right now, even, is he? He thrashes again, experimentally. He does not move Bucky at all.

He tries again.

Uses all his strength, all his tricks.

He tries shoving his hips up, tries unseating Bucky with a complicated ju-jitsu grip. He tries brute force. He takes a deep breath and tries, really _tries_ , to hurt Bucky, to escape.

He can’t.

Oh shit.

He’s crying again.

He is _losing_ , and it’s just so _good_. A feeling he never thought he'd get to have again.

Bucky’s eyes are smoldering above him.

“Was it only about saving me?” Bucky asks him, tone oddly insistent, like he knows something Steve doesn't. “That day on the helicarrier, was it?”

“I, of _course_ ,” Steve stutters, trembling. It’s such a struggle to _speak_.

“So you weren’t curious?” Bucky presses even closer, the edge of the knife in his hand just barely cutting into Steve’s flesh. He feels the press, but there’s no blood. Bucky’s precision, his _control_ , is shockingly impressive and devastatingly attractive.

“N-“ he starts to say, then changes tack as he feels the kiss of the blade press deeper. There’s just the slightest bit of blood welling up, he can feel it. He can feel the _danger_. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh shit.

Bucky asked him a question.

“About - about what?” he forces the words out, stuttering. He hasn’t been able to enjoy a drink since 1943, but he sure as hell feels drunk right now. His head feels muzzy, and his thoughts are slow. It’s _incredible_.

Bucky is still talking.

“About _me_. The Winter Soldier. The ultimate danger. You telling me you weren’t just a _little_ curious? That a danger junkie like you didn't want the hit?” Bucky asks. His voice sounds low and gravelly behind the mask. His eyes are bright.

Steve can’t speak.

He remembers that day on the helicarrier bridge. He remembers wanting Bucky so badly that he thought he would die.

“I know there are a lot of reasons you didn’t try to take me out, Steve,” Bucky says, almost kindly. “But was one of them maybe because you were _aroused_?”

He says it like it’s so _dirty_.

Steve keens.

“M-maybe some part of me wanted to know what would happen, yes,” Steve admits.

Bucky practically crows.

He leans in close, stares into Steve’s eyes, and asks, low and devastating, “You wanted to be with the Winter Soldier. So tell me, _how is it_?”

Oh God, that's what's happening right now, isn't it? He's fooling around with the Winter Soldier.

Steve opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He feels like he’s screaming, but there’s just…silence.

Bucky keeps his eyes on Steve, so close their noses are almost touching. But he carefully telegraphs the motions of his right hand, makes sure Steve can't miss it. He drops the gun on the ground, and reaches back to his vest. From somewhere in his gear, he extracts another knife. Without looking, he whips his right hand out and throws.

The knife lands, perfectly centered in the middle of the triangle Bucky made earlier.

Steve _wails_.

“Gonna make you come now, Stevie,” Bucky says, and grinds down.

Steve is sobbing openly now, trying to grab at Bucky despite his limited range of movement. He’s speaking again, too. It’s just one word, over and over again.

“ _Please_ ,” Steve begs.

And well, hell, Bucky has never been able to deny Steve anything.

He slides down Steve’s body like a snake. Roughly tugs down Steve’s pants. Drops the weight of his metal hand across Steve’s abdomen and rips the mask off his face.

“Bucky-” Steve tries to say.

“I don’t know who the hell that is,” Bucky says, and Steve feels the panic rising. It’s so similar to what he said that day by the overpass bridge. His voice is identical, in fact. Flat inflection. Tone cold and calculating. He sounds competent and terrifyingly efficient. He sounds like a _killer_.

Steve shivers again.

“Try to escape,” Bucky orders, looking up at him through his lashes. His mouth is just inches from where Steve wants it.

He’s can’t, he’s too enraptured to move. This is too close to everything he’s wanted for the last month straight. He can’t-

But Bucky said to, so he does. He fights his hardest and Bucky holds him down. _Easily_. The expression on his face doesn’t even change. It’s like it costs him _nothing_.

Fuck, all his muscles and his training and the _fucking_ serum, and Steve literally can’t move.

He’s at the Winter Soldier’s mercy, here.

“Gonna do whatever I want to you, _Captain_ ,” Bucky sneers, and then takes Steve down in one.

Steve _screams_.

He’s panting immediately.

The Winter Soldier sucks cock like it’s his _job_. The Winter Soldier sucks cock like he’s focused entirely on successful mission completion. No distractions, no hesitations. He holds nothing back, using all of his incredible skill to _suck_ _Steve’s_ _cock_. No wait, Bucky said something else…Captain. He called him Captain. As in, Captain America. Who Steve is. Sometimes. Right.

Oh God, the Winter Soldier is sucking _Captain_ _America’s_ cock, and Captain America isn’t only letting him, he _can’t_ _stop_ him.

“It would be so easy,” Bucky purrs around Steve’s length, except he says it in _Russian_. Steve doesn’t understand.

But all of a sudden there is a knife against Steve’s cock, right at the base. Bucky’s lips kiss the flat of the blade on every downstroke.

Steve starts to shake.

Instead of telling him to stop, or readjusting his hold on Steve’s hips, Bucky _adjusts_ for it. Minutely, in real time. He makes sure the knife is always pressing, but never breaks the skin.

The _skill_ in that...Steve is overwhelmed. No one else on earth could do this, of that he's absolutely sure.

“Do you want me to?” Bucky is asking him. Somehow he’s crawled back up Steve’s body without Steve noticing. His lips are right against Steve's neck, teeth gently scraping the jugular vein.

Steve tries to look away, stare at the ceiling. But he can’t. Because Bucky is everywhere. His face swims in and out of focus. Steve can’t see anything else.

His eyes, bright and murderous.

His lips, bloody and kiss-bitten.

His cheeks, stained with arousal.

His hair, haloing around his head like the avenging angel he is.

Whatever Bucky wants, the answer is yes.

Somehow, he gets the word out.

Carefully, Bucky moves the knife that’s still pressed to Steve’s dick over to his thigh. Then he deftly slides his other hand between their bodies, continues jerking Steve off.

“I would win,” Bucky murmurs, “The Winter Soldier would win.”

And then he slices the knife, just once, shallow and impressively controlled, right over the skin of Steve’s thigh. It parts and bleeds.

Steve comes instantly.

It’s so intense he barely even feels it.

It’s almost like the experience belongs to someone else.

He’s shaking and coming and crying and Bucky is holding him through it, murmuring praise and love.

“So good for me, darling. You did so fucking amazing, babe. Oh God, Stevie, so good for me, I love you, I love you.”

Bucky’s voice is _wrecked_.

It’s the sexiest thing Steve has ever heard. It’s even deeper, throatier, raspier than the Winter Soldier’s voice.

Bucky sits up abruptly, massaging his neck.

“I really worked for it,” he says, and laughs. It comes out as a croak. Steve actually – _impossibly_ \- comes a little again.

Bucky can tell he’s still under a little bit.

“Come suck me off in the shower,” he says, and helps Steve out of bed.

Steve, dazed, wonders where the knife went.

“Right here, pal,” Bucky says, and holds it up in his hand. He’s clearly in the process of putting it away, but they both seem to notice the blood glistening on it at the same time. Bucky looks embarrassed. He changes tack and lays it on the dresser instead. So he can clean it.

Clean _Steve’s blood_ off of it.

Jesus.

What did they just _do_?

He herds them both toward the shower, shedding his gear as he goes. He’ll clean it up later. This is more important.

When they’re both naked, he starts the spray. Steve goes to his knees immediately, and Bucky lets him. He leans his head back, lets Steve suck his cock. He looks so good down there.

By accident, Bucky swears in Russian instead of English when he comes.

And oh shit, that has happened… _never_. It's never happened before. 

He hopes maybe Steve won’t notice. He isn’t sure he meant to go that far under. Steve might have actually just had sex with Winter Soldier _for_ _real_ just then.

Oh God.

He shakes it off, cleans them both up as best he can. He takes special time with Steve’s hair, and then towels his husband off and sits him on the counter. He takes out their (very well-stocked) med kit from the bottom cabinet and carefully cleans the wound, laying a flat white bandage over it when he’s done. Then he takes Steve and bundles him into bed. He sets an alarm to remind him to grab Steve snacks and water in an hour, gets in behind him, pulls the overs up, and spoons him.

As he drifts off to sleep, he tries not to think too much about whether the fact that he and Steve are both shaking means something good, or something bad.


	2. Battle Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events that make up the aftermath of Steve and the Winter Soldier's sex session...
> 
> Or the one where Bucky goes full Winter Soldier to save Steve and they both end up horny disasters.
> 
> Updated TWs for this chapter include: blood, knives, blood pact/cutting, a certain level of violence, a few mentions of gore, dacryphilia, and descriptions of a battle - If you want a quick rundown, please see the A/N at the end of this chapter!

They don’t talk about it.

Not when Bucky gets up to feed them, not when they cuddle each other close and shiver their way back to sleep, and not the next morning, either.

They’ve been avoiding it for weeks now.

Bucky knows he got a little too up close and personal with the Winter Soldier in bed with Steve, and he won’t – _can’t_ – let that happen again. So he pushes it the fuck down. When he and Steve mess around, he makes sure it’s vanilla and easy, a way to show Steve how much he loves him but without any of the vulnerability or the need.

Listen. Bucky’s been around a while. He knows that numbing the intimacy is cutting their pleasure off at the knees. He _knows_ the sex kind of sucks now, okay? He fuckin’ knows.

There’s no satisfaction to what he and Steve do anymore, and all the sex they do have feels like a fucking lie. He gave himself to this man in marriage, for God’s sake. Holding back is fucking killing him.

Plus, his dick is basically begging him for it constantly.

His dick wants to be balls deep inside of Steve while his husband cries underneath him. He can picture it so clearly, even now, in the middle of a mission. The way the blue of Steve’s eyes will shift into something over-bright and desperate, the way the tears will start to well up and leak down his cheeks. God help him, that shouldn’t be so fucking sexy but it is. He wants to be screaming in Russian, cracking his head back against the wall because Steve is on his knees, taking his cock so well that Winter Soldier loses himself to it all. He fucking _wants_ that, okay?

And Jesus, he wants it the other way around, too. Wants to be flat on his back in bed, Steve pounding into him, growling at him that he better not piss himself, and knowing that he will. He wants to _fail_ and he wants to have Steve punish him, fucking him faster, harder, merciless. Wants to feel owned and overwhelmed and so safe with this man that he is actually _afraid_.

Then a bullet whizzes by his head and he forgets all about his sex life. Well, mostly. He’s still so horny for the kinky shit with Steve that he’s pretty much constantly gagging for it, but right now is not the time. Nat is screaming into the comms, Hawkeye needs an assist, and Bucky is rolling on his stomach, leveling out his sniper rifle, calculating windspeed and trajectory, and then all of a sudden there are three downed bodies on the roof surrounding Clint, and Hawkeye is giving him a thumbs up that he knows Bucky will see through his scope.

It goes on like this for a while. These days, Bucky mostly provides support on Avengers missions, sniping from tall buildings, giving his team the edge they need to succeed. He actually likes playing backup like this, both because he’s good as fuck at it, and because it is safer.

Deep down, Bucky is still afraid that one good close combat moment will catapult him right back into the Winter Soldier.

So rooftops it is.

Except – Oh Jesus Christ, is that Steve down there? Nine brigades are advancing on him, led by a strange lizard-like man with a long, snout-like face and about six fifty-cal ammo belts strung across his chest. There’s a wicked looking machine gun in his hands and a glint in his eye that Bucky recognizes.

He’s yelling into the comms before he realizes what’s happening.

Nat – too far away

Hulk – not currently responsive

Hawkeye – dealing with his own problems

Stark – missile wrangling

Help isn’t coming for Steve. But he’s sure as hell not going to let his husband die. Fuck that noise.

Shit, he’s going to have to do this, isn’t he?

Goddamnit, he’s been so careful to never show Steve – or any of the Avengers for that matter – this side of himself.

Steve screams, a sound of fury and distress, and Bucky knows that this is happening.

He takes a deep breath, counts backwards from ten, and thinks the words in Russian.

 _Longing_.

He can’t lose his home.

 _Rusted_.

He can’t lose any more parts of himself.

 _Seventeen_.

He’s so much younger than people think.

 _Daybreak_.

He’s not giving up his new life.

 _Furnace_.

He’s not going to be the one to burn for this.

 _Nine_.

The years it took them to break him mean that he was strong before and he can be strong again, now.

 _Benign_.

Something he will never be again.

 _Homecoming_.

I’m coming, Steve.

 _One_.

You’re my soulmate, Steve.

 _Freight_ _car_.

I’m falling…Only for you, Steve.

There’s no one else he’d do this for.

When Bucky opens his eyes, they’re cold and calculating, but they aren’t blank. He still _feels_. Fear for Steve. Fear for himself. But some things matter more.

He doesn’t need the words anymore. They don’t hold any power over him. But that doesn’t mean they don’t help him drop into the right headspace faster, like meditation in reverse. Methodically and in a matter of seconds, he inventories his weapons. Sniper rifle, now strapped to his back. The black mat he’s laying on is a possible asset, laid over the cold concrete of the roof. Four grenades in his belt. Six guns – three strapped in his tac jacket, one on each thigh, and an reserve pistol holstered on his right ankle. Twenty-three knives, spread out evenly on his person. Fourteen within easy access. A coil of thick black rope.

He gets up, moving in a crouch, and efficiently searches the bodies of the two men stupid enough to come after him while he’s been up here. He acquires two assault rifles, a subpar handgun that he tosses after pocketing the magazine, and a single grenade. Their knives aren’t even worth _mentioning_.

He grabs one end of the black rope, ties it around a steel support and knots it off, then stashes his newly acquired weaponry on his person. He is nearly ready. He takes one more millisecond to check his hair – securely up in a ponytail, likelihood of coming undone during close combat under 8%. Acceptable.

Steve screams again, and the Winter Soldier leaps off the side of a building for him.

Perhaps the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes are not so different after all.

He flies through the air at breakneck speed, first straight down, just plummeting, and then the rope wrapped around his metal hand pulls taut and he flies in a near-graceful arc right over the field of engagement. His right hand is already outstretched, the first of his many guns held at the ready.

He drops gracefully, rolls once, and comes up firing.

He circles Steve, dropping his opponents with careful precision, blocking shots with his metal arm as he goes. He buries eighteen knives in the hearts of Steve’s enemies, goes through five guns and seven clips, and takes out the final fighter with a booted kick to the sternum that breaks every rib. He knows, because he hears the crunch. He is not aware of what Steve has been doing behind him at all – Steve is not a threat, so he does not need to pay attention to his actions, only protect his position.

The Winter Soldier protects his husband with his entire being.

So when the lizard man climbs out of the wreckage and stands upon a bombed-out car, the Winter Soldier immediately zeros in on the fact that this guy has a clean shot. Steve has lowered his shield in the aftermath. It will take him approximately 8.2 seconds to lift it up again. It will take the lizard man approximately 3.1 seconds to fire.

He throws himself forward, startling the lizard man with his explosion of motion. It’s over in seconds, but when the dust settles, Bucky Barnes is standing atop a burned-out VW Bug, the still-beating heart of the lizard man clutched in his fist.

 _He threatened Steve_.

What he knows is this: Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, whatever name and identity he goes by, it doesn’t matter. He is defined by the fact that there is no act he will not commit in the name of protecting the man he loves.

Still, he is secure enough in himself to admit he is afraid of turning around, afraid of seeing the look in Steve’s eyes. He is spared by, of all people, Tony Stark, flying by overhead in his Iron Man suit.

“Holy shit, _Barnes_ ,” Tony whistles over the comms. “What the fuck did you just _do_?”

“Language,” Steve admonishes weakly, and Bucky does turn around then.

The look in Steve’s eyes is…not what Bucky was expecting.

Steve looks _hungry_.

Oh God, he’s still holding this dude’s heart in his fist. It’s fucking dripping blood all down his metal palm and wrist. He leaps down from the car’s hood, alighting just in front of Steve, who is listing dangerously. Bucky frantically catalogues Steve’s potential injuries. Is he losing blood? Fuck, was Bucky too _late_?! He lifts his free hand to start patting Steve down, but Steve takes a frantic, terrified step back.

“Don’t!” he gasps, and Bucky feels his heart fall into his feet.

No. God, please, no.

But Steve is still stammering, still ineffectually backing away without really moving.

“Steve?” Bucky asks quietly, and the love and pain in his voice cannot be hidden. Neither can the tell-tale rasp that only happens when he’s been fighting bloody.

“Oh God,” Steve croaks, and drops to his knees at Bucky’s feet.

Oh. Steve backing up and away from him makes a whole lot more sense now. He isn't afraid, he's -

They're on a _battlefield_.

Oh holy fucking shit.

He can’t- they can’t- people can’t see Steve like this. Not now, not here.

“Steve,” Bucky says in his sternest, most authoritative voice. “Get up.”

But Steve is so gone, so much further down than Bucky has ever seen him. It’s almost frightening. It’s also turning him the fuck on.

He’s holding a bloody heart in his fist, Steve is on his knees for him in the dirt, and Bucky is just hard as fucking nails in his tac pants. All the grenades in the world can’t explain away the bulge of his full-fledged hard on tenting them right now. In the distance, he can hear the distinctive whine of Stark’s suit zipping back towards them.

Oh fuck.

They need to move, _now_.

For lack of a better option, he throws the heart onto the ground, where it breaks up into pieces with a grotesque _splat_. Some of the blood splashes onto Steve’s cheek. He just gasps again and fucking _keens_. Bucky needs to get him out of here, like, yesterday. He grabs Steve with both hands, uncaring of the blood at this point, and hauls him to his feet. He puts one hand on the small of Steve’s back and shoves.

“March,” he spits, and he doesn’t even know whether he said it in Russian or in English, but Steve _moves,_ and that’s all that matters. Half-dragging, half frog-marching, Bucky manages to get Steve out of sight and into a secluded alley. The second he realizes they’re alone, Steve uses every ounce of his super-strength to shove Bucky up against the brick wall and drops to his knees again.

“Be him,” Steve gasps, fingers already working at Bucky’s fly.

“W-what?” Bucky gasps, and oh God, Steve’s fingers are already drawing him out.

“I need you to be him,” Steve begs. “Want him, too.”

And oh. _Oh_. Steve is leaning forward and swallowing him down and all he can do is moan and let it happen. His head cracks against the brick wall as Steve crowds him, sucking eagerly. Dimly, Bucky realizes that he’s got his metal hand – the one covered in blood – all tangled up in Steve’s hair. He can’t bring himself to care. Steve is sucking and begging unintelligibly and Bucky is slipping, undoing, becoming—

“Fuuuuuuck,” he swears, except it comes out as, “Ебать его конем!”

Oh shit, he just swore in Russian.

His vision is starting to blur, but he can still make out Steve’s frantic expression. His husband redoubles his efforts, “Fuck, yes, come on,” he encourages around his mouthful of (impressive, if Bucky does say so himself) cock.

“Oh fuck, oh God yes, suck my dick!” Bucky throws his head back and yells. It comes out a little different. “Соси́ мой хуй!”

Steve actually starts to cry at the sound of all the harsh consonants.

Bucky can’t stop talking now. He isn’t sure if he’s Bucky or the Winter Soldier or both. Maybe he's just on another plane of existence entirely. But Jesus God, he needs to _come_.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he’s babbling, and it’s becoming this confusing mix of English and Russian all mixed up together. His words sound strange when they come out in English, and unintelligible when they come out in Russian. He’s getting all his speech patterns and idiomatic expressions mixed up. He’s losing his mind. He’s –

He’s coming.

“Suck my cock, yes, fuck, oh God, Steve, _fuck_!”

His vision whites out, he almost brains himself against the brick when he throws his head back and screams. He’s shaking violently, and Steve is on his knees on the dirty ground just _sobbing_ for more.

When he comes back to himself, he immediately drops to the ground with Steve, gathering him up, kissing his face, running his fingers through his hair. Steve is here, Steve is alive, and they just did something so utterly depraved together that Bucky is actually crying with _gratitude_.

“I missed this,” he sobs. “I almost lost you, Stevie.”

“You didn’t, Buck, you didn’t,” Steve sobs right back, and then, “Oh God, that was amazing.”

And then they dissolve into kissing, deep and intense, and that’s how Tony finds them a half an hour later from when they first disappeared.

“Are you kidding me?” he yells, and actually takes the time to retract the faceplate so they can see his expression. Steve and Bucky separate and turn to look at him simultaneously.

“Whoa,” Tony says, and takes not one, not two, but three steps back.

“What?” Bucky snaps.

Tony just gestures toward their faces, blanches a funny shade of white, and chokes out, “You are two kinky motherfuckers. I don’t want to know.” He turns to go, takes two steps, and spins around again.

“But seriously. Seriously. Blood?” he asks. “ _Really_?” And then he’s gone.

Steve and Bucky turn back to look at each other, and instead of bursting into laughter, the mood just turns more solemn. Bucky holds out his palm, and Steve wordlessly mirrors him. Bucky draws a knife with his free hand, and carves a careful “S” into his own palm. Then Steve takes the knife from him and carves “B + WS” into his. Bucky chokes on his own breath, but before he can say anything, before he can protest, Steve shoves their bloody hands together and clasps tightly.

“I love you, all versions.” He says, “’Til the end of the line.”

Bucky sobs and buries his face in Steve’s shoulder. “’Til the end of the line,” he breathes.

They stay like that for a few minutes, waiting for their palms to heal up.

“A blood bond, really Steve?” Bucky tries to keep it light, but Steve isn’t having it.

“I love you,” he says instead, fierce and insane, and God, Bucky loves this man.

“I love you too, punk,” he says, and sobs into Steve’s uniform for a good ten minutes more.

“I almost lost you today,” he cries.

“And you didn’t, because of who you are,” Steve says before grabbing Bucky’s hand again and pulling them both out of the muck. They limp out of the alleyway together, torn up and bloody. A newly-returned Bruce Banner catches their gaze and waves. He has no idea, Bucky thinks. Then he sees Natasha looking from the blood smeared on their faces to Bucky’s bloodied metal hand to the lizard man’s remains, and back again.

She looks simultaneously impressed and disapproving.

Bucky doesn’t care.

He turns his back on all of them. He’s taking Steve home. Someone else can quarterback this cleanup for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It took me a whole to decide what direction I wanted to go in for the aftermath of their first Steve x Winter Soldier encounter. I am pretty happy with this and I hope that someone out there enjoys it, too. Also, just a note that I don't speak Russian. I stole the phrases off some vaguely legit-looking language websites, so hopefully they're alright.
> 
> Also, a quick rundown of potential triggers for anyone who wants to know before they read: Gore- Bucky rips the heart out of a reptilian guy that's about to kill Steve with his bare hands, and later has to toss it onto the ground and some of the blood splashes onto Steve. They also make out like a lot and the blood gets transferred all over their faces and into Steve's hair, too. Dacryphilia - it's mentioned how Steve cries while on his knees blowing the Winter Soldier, and WS!Bucky gets off on it. Blood/knives - Bucky and Steve carve each others' initials into their palms and make a blood pact like the insanely intense weirdos they are, as a way of reconnecting after they felt somewhat estranged from one another (don't try this at home! and please don't read if that's a trigger for you, I want y'all to stay safe!) For anyone who decides to read, I sincerely hope you enjoy!


	3. Flooded In The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve are making their way back home from the battle when they run into a little issue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bringing it full circle, here. I'm sorry I keep doing this to you, Bucky.
> 
> Tags/TWs for this chapter: wetting, coming in pants, d/s undertones, light sub!Bucky/dom!Steve, kink

They start walking, but halfway out of the frankly ridiculously extensive battle zone, they run into a problem.

“Steve,” Bucky says quietly. “I gotta piss.”

“Huh?” Steve’s head whips around so fast it’s almost comical.

God, Bucky has fucking _missed_ this.

“Never again,” he swears, and Steve looks confused.

“We are never going to let embarrassment or fucking _fear_ get in the way of our kinky time together ever again. I missed the real you so much, baby,” he whines. “Gonna make me piss or what?”

Steve grins.

“Never again, and fuck no, you better hold it until we get home.”

Bucky grins, grits his teeth, and stumbles through the rubble with his arm around Steve.

Eight minutes later, it becomes apparent that all the adrenaline that got dumped into his system earlier isn’t going to wait until they make it home.

“Steve,” Bucky says, and oh shit, that came out as way more of a whine than he intended.

“No,” Steve sing-songs, not even looking.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky says again, and this time his tone catches Steve’s attention. “This is happening.” He knows he looks panicked. There are still some stray reporters and stragglers around after all. He’s not exactly keen on the whole world watching him piss his pants on CNN.

“Okay, Buck, hang on,” Steve says, and drags Bucky by the elbow into an alleyway about a hundred feet way. Fuck, Bucky didn’t even see it over the stack of broken-up cars over there. Sometimes he really hates that extra three inches of height Steve’s got on him. He hasn’t got the time to be sanctimonious about it right now, though. He does an instinctive perimeter check, then goes for his fly as soon as they’re far enough in to be hidden, but Steve stops him with a hand over his.

“What would the Winter Soldier do about this?” Steve asks.

 _Ugh, Steve, not_ _now with your Winter Soldier fantasy bullshit_ , Bucky thinks. He’s literally about to piss in his tac pants. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to concentrate.

“Piss in a bottle, most likely,” he answers. “Definitely if I was in a sniper perch. At the height of the drugs and conditioning, I could go probably seven hours fully hydrated without a break. So I’d factor that knowledge into jobs.”

“Shit,” Steve whistles, and he sounds torn between impressed at the stamina, and incensed that Bucky went through that.

“Steve,” Bucky snaps his fingers in front of his husband's face. “I do not have the benefit of HYDRA’s suppressant drugs and inhumane conditioning practices right now. I _will_ fucking piss myself if you do not move your hand.”

“Oh, sorry,” Steve says, sheepish.

“Jesus, you really do like this, don’t you?” It dawns on Bucky, all of a sudden. Just like how he likes playing up his Winter Soldier side for Steve, how he kinda really likes showing off his skills and, oh fuck, watching Steve _cry_ (God, he’s still gotta work that one out for himself). Just like that, Steve gets off on this piss stuff with him, too.

“Fuck, you have no idea, Buck,” Steve bursts out suddenly. “Sometimes I feel so fuckin’ bad about it, you know? How much I love watching you _squirm_.”

A little shudder goes through Bucky at that, but he keeps it under control. He is a _professional_ , goddamnit.

He _will_ _not_ piss his tac pants.

He _won’t_.

Oh, who is he kidding, he’s probably gonna, and Steve can see it. It’s pretty fucking obvious with the way he’s bouncing around and scrunching up all the muscles in his body. Steve passes a hand over his face. “Jesus, Buck, I’m so fucking turned on right now. I’m so _sorry_.” His voice breaks. And fuck no, fuck that.

“I love it when you cry,” Bucky chokes out. And fuck, what? He did not mean to say _that_. It’s true though.

“You…what?”

“When we play,” Bucky starts, and oh God, the _shame_. “When I’m the Winter Soldier while we have sex,” he clarifies, and God, every word feels like another step toward the executioner’s axe. “You um, you cry when I get rough, and Jesus, God, you in tears does it for me _so much_. I fucking _came_ back there when you started to cry, Steve. Fuck.”

Now _he’s_ going to cry, because Steve is going to leave him and their marriage will be over and he’s going to lose his soulmate and what has he _done_ –

“That’s, um, okay?” Steve says, confused.

Bucky freezes, but forces himself to meet Steve’s gaze. But it’s Steve who is looking down now, toeing a line in the dirt with his stupid Captain America boot. “I like crying for you,” Steve admits, and then the truth bursts out. “Oh fuck, I love it so much, baby. When you get all forceful and fuck my face or hold me down by the hair with blood on your hands. When you show off your knife skills or how easily you could kill me – and I know you won’t, because you have that much restraint, so much control, oh God, Buck, I’m sorry but I’m getting hard just thinking about how you ripped out that guy’s heart for me.”

Steve freezes at his own admission.

“I’d rip out a thousand more with my bare hands,” Bucky bites out the words like they’re some kind of vow. And, well, maybe they are.

All of a sudden, they both notice a strange sort of hissing sound. They look down at the same time, and oh fuck this is it, the end of his life. Bucky Barnes, The Winter Soldier, it doesn't even _matter_ \- no matter what his name is, he is literally going to die of embarrassment right fucking now.

“Um, Buck?” Steve tries, tentative.

“Steve, if you are going to point out that I am pissing my pants right now, I am unfortunately very aware.”

“Oh,” Steve says flatly. He’s staring and Bucky is trying like fuck to get it to stop and –

“Steve,” he whispers hoarsely, “I can’t stop.”

“Oh, _baby_.” The confession seems to awaken something in Steve. He steps right up into Bucky’s space, pressing their bodies together from chests to toes.

“Are you having an accident right now?” Steve teases, except the tone is all wrong.

“Ye-yeah,” Bucky’s voice breaks, and fuck, he’s crying. “Yeah, I am. Oh fuck, Steve, what the fuck is happening?”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” Steve’s voice in his ear is soothing, and his bladder just keeps emptying and emptying, and shit, when was the last time he _went_ , and oh God, this is so humiliating but he’s here with Steve and it’s also just so, so _good_.

He’s shaking like a leaf by the time it stops, trapped between Steve’s body and the alley wall. The puddle is so large it’s snaking its way underneath the nearby dumpster.

“Holy shit, Buck,” Steve is laughing, in the best kind of way.

“Your – your suit,” Bucky winces, because he’s pretty sure he just pissed all over Steve’s pants, too.

“I came in them, it’s fine, I don’t care,” Steve is saying.

Bucky laughs. “Me pissing myself gets you to come in your pants kind of often, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs back, “it really kind of does. Shit, it’s so hot, Buck, do you know that? You get the most gorgeous, desperate look on your face. It makes me want to…well, lose it. And I do. Every goddamn time.”

Bucky looks nervous suddenly.

“It’s _you_ , Buck,” Steve says. “It’s not about some kink. It’s because it’s you.”

And oh. Oh, Bucky can finally relax now, the last of his worries about these little encounters that they have falling away.

“I like how sometimes you’re so controlled it’s crazy, and how other times you let me see you when you lose control, too. You’re the sexiest person I’ve ever met, baby,” Steve says.

And fuck that is good to hear. But if nothing else in the last few weeks, Bucky has learned the value of _communication_ in relationships. So he says out loud what he’s thinking.

“I’m relieved,” he says. “And Steve? I feel the same way about you. I don’t like seeing anyone else cry - sexually, I mean - and I would never trust anyone else on Earth with the Winter Soldier side of myself the way I trust you. And the piss kink? I would literally die before I let anyone else see that shit willingly. It’s about _you_ for me, too.”

The smiles that breaks out over Steve’s face at that is nearly beatific.

“We’re idiots,” Bucky laughs.

“Yeah,” Steve giggles back. “We are.”

“My tac pants are full of piss,” Bucky frowns.

“Yeah, they fucking are,” Steve says, and it sounds so lascivious that they both just burst out laughing again.

They manage to get home without being seen, making use of old Brooklyn alleyways and shortcuts. They have to basically break into their own apartment and enter through the window to avoid any security cameras, but it’s worth it (and also sort of super fucking _fun_ ).

Because Steve and Bucky are very good at what they do, there is not a single picture of either of them in the paper the next morning. But they wouldn’t have noticed even if there was, because currently, Bucky is fucking Steve into the mattress with a knife in one hand and the other curled protectively over his own ridiculously full bladder. There are eight empty water bottles on the bedroom floor and his husband is looking up at him with tears on his cheeks and a knowing glint in his eye as he shoves his hand up against Bucky’s abdomen and -

“Fuck,” Bucky chokes out, except it’s in Russian.

Steve gasps, and answers in English with the dirtiest grin Bucky has ever seen. “That’s the idea, baby.”


End file.
